Two years later
by Aurelia Faiza
Summary: King of Iron Fist has ended, and two years later, Hwoarang is in a bad way. He needs to be saved, maybe by a petite lady with a love for theme parks.  Rated for bad language and extreme kinkiness, because that floats my boat!
1. Chapter 1

Hey! So, this is my first fanfic, and I'm reeeeally nervous, truth be told! Anyway, I wrote this because I LOVE Xiaorang as a pairing, and this idea just came to me one day. Tell me what you think!

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters, damnit.

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><p><strong>Hwoarang<strong>

Two years yesterday.

How long it's been since the last tournament. How long it's been since I had something to live for, sad as it may sound.

Two fucking years wandering around trying to find a reason to not just kill myself. How tragic that I've found nothing.

A little over two years ago, I was a hero, here in my hometown of Seoul, South Korea. In the back alleys, people said my name with a certain reverence, as if I were a deity, something to be looked up to, worshipped.

In a nutshell, Seoul has no need for me anymore. There's just no interest in street fighting now. Or, at least, no profitable interest. Fighting is what I was born to do, but that doesn't mean I'll do it for charity.

It all went downhill very suddenly for me. Within a month of the tournament being called off indefinitely, people stopped betting against me. I remained undefeated, obviously, but I wasn't winning. It took me a depressingly long time to make myself change.

Deciding how to pass time was easy. Putting it into action was even easier.

Maybe it became fashionable to destroy yourself as opposed to watching other people destroying each other. Anyway, I caught myself up in the new craze, as much as it disgusted me; where there's a trend, there's money.

Finding out where the growers kept their stuff was the hardest part. Us Koreans pride ourselves on our secrecy; it makes us distinctive in the world. It just happens to be a pain in the arse when you're trying to illegally steal some illegal growers' illegal crops.

I found one, eventually. From the looks of it, I hit the jackpot. A huge warehouse on the outskirts of Seoul, three floors, crammed full of various plants. I visited it at night, when there was only one man on guard. Fool.

He was practically begging me to take the stuff before I'd even said anything. One look at me and he was terrified for his life.

I suppose it's kind of flattering that I have that effect on people.

I have about fifteen clients, give or take. I don't get involved with them in any way, if I can avoid it. Drug users disgust me more than drugs themselves. I will never sink as low as the people I am killing. In all modesty, my body is a temple; I have no desire to ruin it.

I suppose I am the worst kind of drug dealer; the lowest of the low. I don't buy and sell. I steal and sell. Infinitely more profit. Not that I really need it; I'm a young, healthy man living alone in a scummy one bedroom flat. Much of the money I make isn't used.

When the tournament was still here, I had less time to earn money, and nothing was wasted; everything I earned was spent on training equipment, basic survival necessities, and fuel for my bike. That's all I need.

Sometimes I lie on my bed and stare at the ceiling, like I'm doing now, and think, really think, if there's anything for me at all here. Seoul, Korea, Asia, Earth – what am I doing on this planet? I fight. But what if I'm fighting for nothing? Then I'm living for nothing.

It's cold, in this room. I can't be bothered to find a blanket. I close my eyes, silently regretting not wearing a shirt.

That said, I should be used to the cold. When I was drafted into the army, I spent many a night sleeping out in the cold, in the rain, in the rat-infested. You'd think the Korean armed forces might differentiate from the British during the Second World War, but apparently not.

I hate the position I'm in. Can you tell?

I know, I know, I choose to be distant, I choose to dislike the company of others' – but being lonely does grow tiresome. Sometimes I wonder if having someone who gives a shit would make a difference.

Like I'm ever going to find out.

I snap my eyes open, a hollow feeling suddenly growing in the pit of my stomach.

I've been saying it to myself for months, but it's as if it's only just sunk in.

I have literally nothing to live for.

Ouch.

I stand and dress without thinking properly about what I am doing. I glance at the battered clock that's been sitting on my windowsill since I moved here; four thirty. That's enough time to do whatever I'm going to do.

Numb, I walk out of my apartment, grabbing my goggles from a hook next to the door on my way out.

I hop onto my bike, and drive around for a few minutes, absentmindedly following my instincts, ending up at the pastel-decoration adorned entrance to the world famous Lotte World. I stare blankly up at the huge, lighted sign, waiting for my thoughts to organize themselves.

[Sometimes I wonder; if the contents of my head were to be put onto paper and turned into a book, how fucked up would that particular novel be in relation to everyone else's?]

Eventually a light goes "ping" in my head. Possibly triggered by my eyes sweeping over a poster advertising a particular ride; "the wonderful, the terrifying, the heart-stopping Gyro-Drop".

Couple of hundred feet tall, at least. One of those boring rides that takes you all the way up and then – funnily enough – drops you to the earth. Terror, screams, messed up hair all round. Admittedly made more entertaining by the sheer height of it. Tall enough for a man to die if he should accidentally shimmy the central pole and fall off.

Worth a try.

I sneak through the staff entrance [I may be just about to die but no way am I going to blow fifty thousand Won on a bloody wristband] and surreptitiously work my way around crowds of bored teenagers and excitable toddlers and pasty tourists, all of whom disgust me, keeping both of my eyes on the white spire clearly visible from a very long way off.

If I were worth something, anything, and believed that I was, I'd turn back. I'd turn back, hanging my head, scolding myself internally for being so stupid and reckless.

Nowadays I live for the stupid and reckless.

It takes bloody ages to reach the bastard ride. And there's a queue – surprise surprise. A British couple tap me on the shoulder and ask me in slow, loud English to take a photo of them. I nearly take them both out there and then – two quick, precise jabs to the sweet spot on the neck, they'd be unconscious before they knew what was happening. However, I'm trying to not draw attention to myself before I need to; I should imagine I won't be able to climb the pole unnoticed, may as well make the most of being disregarded.

I shuffle towards the head of the queue with the rest of the people, head down in pensive contemplation, when a chirpy voice drills its way through to my cranium, rousing me from my stupor and making me snap my head up so quickly that an audible "crack" from my neck causes the nearby tourists to turn slightly green.

"May I see your wristband please, sir?"

Her voice hasn't changed at all.

Still light, still girly, still laced with giggles, still endlessly cheerful, still completely "her".

I gawk at her like a moronic tourist when faced with a foreign rip off, wishing for my head to get it together and say something remotely intelligent.

I manage a barely comprehensible "hey", which comes out as more of a "hurrrch-ey".

Recognition flickers in her chocolate brown eyes, and her brows furrow the way they always did when she was confused and trying to figure something out. She doesn't remember me. What reason does she have to remember me? We never spoke once, and it was two years ago; they've all forgotten me, I'm prepared to bet.

"Hi!" she screams excitedly. She remembers me…

"Hoorang!"

My newfound bud of hope is crushed underfoot.

"How are you? Wow, it's been too long! Fancy seeing you here! You never seemed like the kind to turn up at places like this!" she babbles, speaking quickly and happily, as if she is genuinely overjoyed to see me. If only. I don't know who this "Hoorang" guy is, but I bet he's a right freak.

I try for a smile. It doesn't really work. I give up.

"Hey," I whisper hoarsely.

"How've you been?" she smiles. I open my mouth to reply, "pretty shit, thanks", before the words catch in my throat.

When was the last time someone asked me how I was? How long has it been since someone cared about my wellbeing? Or pretended to, what does it matter?

It was Kazama, I think. Me and him were starting to get closer, towards the end. Well. We weren't hating on each other anymore. Shared a few drinks once or twice, in the company of others. Haven't heard from him in two years and a day.

Shit, that's depressing.

The people I… deal with [no pun intended] only care that I'm well enough to give them what they want. I suppose you could say that I have no one who gives a shit whether I'm alive or dead.

She's waiting for an answer. Crap, what do I say?

"Fine, thanks," I stammer eventually, feeling myself redden. "And you?"

"Can't complain," she chirps. "Though I'm actually in the doghouse at the moment – I don't usually take tickets, but I designed a ride that made four people faint during the test run. Boss wasn't too impressed with me," she laughs. I blow upwards, momentarily lifting my auburn fringe.

"You design rides?" I ask, impressed.

"Sure do! I love theme parks, it's pretty idyllic really."

A memory stirs.

"Didn't you enter the tournament to found a theme park or something?"

An eyebrow neatly rises questioningly.

"I overheard someone talking about it," I lie, not particularly wanting her to know I went out of my way to listen to her discussing it with a friend. She always fascinated me; tiny and adorable, but really quite deadly. Wherever she went, laughter would follow. She epitomized happiness. Quite different to the stuck up Korean guy, "too good" to deign to speak to anyone there. Yeah, I heard what people said about me. I shrugged it off until there was too much to just ignore.

She nods, and opens her mouth to reply when an overweight couple behind me begin to complain loudly about the wait. She gasps and apologizes profusely, allowing more people to pile onto the ride. She skips off to strap them all in and returns, harried and distracted.

"I'm sorry," she says quickly. "This is a really bad time…"

"Of course," I nod understandingly. "I'm sorry."

"Maybe we could meet up sometime?" she asks, twiddling a dial and pressing a button. The ride jerks upwards about a meter; some people scream.

"Huh?" I gawk idiotically.

She giggles, almost nervously. "Maybe we could… never mind."

Something inside of me panics. "No! Hey, that would be nice," I gabble. She laughs, a tinkling laugh that makes me want to laugh with her. I would try, were I not afraid of making an idiot of myself again.

She takes a notebook out of her pocket and scribbles something down. She rips the sheet off and hands it to me, smiling.

"Call me."

"Sure thing," I reply, turning to go away. As an afterthought, I turn back to face her. She's still smiling; it melts the layer of ice that's been accumulating around my heart over the last two years a little bit.

"It's Hwoarang, by the way."

Her eyes widen, and she coughs to hide her embarrassment. It's adorable.

"It's okay, Xiaoyu," I laugh, meaning it.

"You remembered my name though," she sighs, not meeting my eye.

"Hey, no worries!"

"…."

"I mean it. I'll call you."

She perks up at that.

"Yay," she smiles.

I wink, my version of a smile, before turning and walking away before I stay and annoy the queue even further. I had no idea she'd be so easy to talk to…

Feeling her eyes on me, I disappear into the crowd, tucking the paper into my pocket. I walk without looking back, lest I should run back and talk to her again.

When I reach the exit, I swivel, quickly finding the huge, white pointed construction. A different group of people are on it now; the mechanism has carried them all the way up to the top, and left them hovering. Even from here, I can hear the terrified screams. All of a sudden, they drop; they're all screaming now, clearly audible over the music and laughter and happiness that surrounds me. At the last minute, the device stops, and they all breathe a thankful sigh of relief. They're gently lowered to the ground, and I'm left wondering how big a mess I'd have made if I'd jumped.

Was I too chicken to do it? Or did someone enter my life who's given me a tiny spark of hope to blow on?

For the first time in years, I smile.


	2. Chapter 2

Hola!  
>Thank you for reading chapter one :) I'm loving writing about these guys!<br>Reviews make me happy *hint hint*  
>Disclaimer: I still don't own any of the characters :|<p>

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><p><strong>Xiaoyu<strong>

I watch him as he leaves, fascinated by the way his jaw-length red hair swishes as he moves. It's almost feminine, the notion, but Hwoarang is certainly _not_ feminine. He's… captivating.

Always has been. From the first time I saw him, leaning against a wall, alone, hands in his pockets, hair swept from his face by his goggles, he's intrigued me. More than anyone else at the tournament ever did. I'd see him most days, and he was always alone, always looking slightly bored and tired, but then he'd fight and – wow. I've never seen anything like it.

Graceful and smooth, yet deadly and vicious at the same time. Extraordinary.

There was a group of us girls, and we'd all club together and forget that we were meant to be fighting one another. We used to talk at length about the guys of the tournament – though only one guy was the regular discussion topic.

Jin Kazama was the subject of all my friends' affections. I have to admit, he really was – and still is – very nice to look at. But not really my thing.

My type is less… obvious. The quieter, more solitary one. I wish I'd plucked up the courage to talk to Hwoarang back then. I wanted to, I really did, but I'd heard stories about how he'd grievously injured people who snuck up on him when all they wanted to do was ask for the time. Almost definitely made up, and I regret not taking the risk.

Since the tournament ended two years ago, I've been busy. I gathered all the money I had in the world and invested it all into my theme park enterprise. I've built three so far, and I'm just starting out. I'm only working at Lotte World temporarily, working on a new roller coaster for the owner. I want to have at least one Xiao-World in every continent. What can I say; I'm ambitious.

Jin used to tease me about my dreams. "Big goals for such a little lady," he'd laugh, before tickling me until I was helpless on the floor, begging for mercy. My friends envied the friendship I had with him, when the tournament was still around. They thought we were getting it on behind closed doors. We weren't.

He stopped teasing me around the same time my dreams started to be realized. He didn't have it so easy, when it ended. He poured his heart and soul into the tournament. Now he has nothing. He used to come and stay quite a lot – I told him he's always welcome to sleep on my sofa – but I think it depressed him to be reminded of what he didn't have anymore every time he saw me.

He's upset that its over, and I smile because it's happened. We just don't view fighting in the same way.

Jin's the only person I've remained friends with – everyone else returned to their countries, disheartened, like we all were, to start a life that the tournament and commitments that come with it didn't really allow any of us to have. I'm pretty sure he cut himself off from everyone else – even me, at one point. We lost contact for a long time. Then one day, about six months ago, he turned up to my flat out of the blue. Unshaven, dirty, unkempt, and half dead.

Five years ago, we were sitting cross-legged on his bed, facing each other, talking about the future. In a moment of uncharacteristic sentimentality, he told me that he hoped we'll always be friends. I was honestly touched. I told him in return that if he was ever in any kind of trouble, then he could rely on me to stand by him and help him out of it, whatever it may be. At the time he laughed, ruining the moment. "Xiao," he chuckled, "you'll take care of me? It's more likely to be the other way round, tiny."

But, there we were. I helped him back on his feet. I nursed him back to full physical health. I found him a place to live, close to me so I could keep an eye on him. I think I saved him.

He's getting better. I don't know where he went or what he did when he stopped speaking to me, but I think he's healing. Slowly but surely.

I stretch, feeling my joints unclench from hours of standing and taking tickets. How do people do it full time? As much as I love theme parks, this kind of work feels a little too much like actual work for me to enjoy it.

At long last, my shift is over – I can go home. I slowly shower in the staff facilities, thinking about Hwoarang. I knew fine well what his name is; I panicked, basically. I thought it would look weird if I knew his name, having never spoken to him before nor seen him for two years, and I was positive he'd have no idea who I was. I have a habit of doing stupid things like that.

I wonder if he'll really call. He said he would, but guys say a lot of things. It would be lovely if he did. We could grab a coffee, maybe dinner sometime, if he was interested. Then maybe we could -

This is insane. We've spoken for less than five minutes, and already I'm crushing on him again.

It would be nice to get to know him.

I step out of the shower and slowly towel myself dry. I spent ages in there, just thinking. Now everyone else has gone, and I have the changing room to myself.

Normally I'd invite some people over for a few drinks, but I think I'd rather wait to see if he calls.

Gosh, I'm sad.

I dress, trying to pace myself. The longer I spend here, the less time I'll be sitting at home, anxious for my phone to ring.

Suddenly realizing how ridiculous I'm being, I shake myself. "Snap out of it, Xiao," I scold my reflection in the floor-length mirror along one wall. I look at myself – properly look at myself, trying to look through the eyes of someone else. When I'm standing here in just my underwear, I don't look too bad [I hope]. Little bit too sinewy to be hot, and a little bit too petite to be stereotypically fit, but not _bad_. I think.

I glance at the clock; six thirty. I groan; there's hours left of today.

I dress in a pair of denim short shorts and an orange vest top, pulling my hair up into the bunches that have been my trademark since I was ten. I flick one of them in the mirror, wondering if they make me look even younger than I already do. Deciding to experiment, I pull the orange bands out of my hair and shake my head in a L'oreal way, letting my jet black hair cascade down past my shoulders. It's longer than you might think, coming down quite a long way down my back.

Why am I bothering about how I look? I'm being crazy. What are the chances I'm going to actually see him again, let alone see him tonight?

I puff my cheeks out and air escapes my lips in a thin stream. Ready to go home to a lonely flat with nothing but bad sitcoms for company? Not really.

I walk absentmindedly to my rented flat in the nicer part of Seoul, about ten minutes from my current placement and let myself in with my little pink key. The place is depressingly empty, the way it always is. I entertain a lot, to stop myself talking to the furniture.

That's what I do; I talk. If I had a penny for every time I've been told off about it I could single-handedly fulfil all of my wildest theme park-related dreams, rid the world of poverty and still have enough left over for a manicure. I don't care who I talk to, but as long as I'm exercising my jaw, I'm generally happy. More than one person has told me that I suffer from chronic and terminal verbal diarrhoea, which is a lovely image.

I slump on the sofa and inattentively pick bobbles off the rug that covers it.

I wish he'd call.

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><p>Hehe. I really love Xiaoyu.<br>Just thought I'd get that in there :)  
>Please tell me if you think I should continue writing, or just abandon the project<br>Thank you!


	3. Chapter 3

Helloo :)  
>Thank you to Xiaoyin Lover and Wind Scarlette for the reviews! Kinkiness coming soon, pinkie promise ^_^<p>

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><p><strong>Hwoarang<strong>

Still disconcerted about how a small conversation like that can make me change my mind about something I thought I was set on, I park my bike at home and walk to the gym. I'm procrastinating, putting off making the pivotal decision: do I try and kill myself properly, or do I call Xiaoyu?

Possibly one of the hardest decisions I'll ever make.

I observe my surroundings with slight revulsion. It's one of those dingy little gymnasiums that opens whenever the owner feels like it and closes whenever he can be arsed to kick everyone out. The walls are black and peeling to show dirty white underneath the paper, and adorned with posters of muscled men for inspiration and naked women straddling motorbikes for encouragement. There are no windows; the whole place is underground, and the bricked walls induce the claustrophobic feeling of being at the bottom of a large square well. The bare bulb in the middle of the room flickers sulkily.

This place is disgusting.

I start out light, on the forty-kilogram weights, attempting to think things through in my head. How did she put me off even attempting what I went there to do? Why did she give me her number? Is she interested?

The last one is fucking laughable. Like she'd ever fall for me. Though something similar did happen once, in a childhood story called "Beauty and the Beast".

Upping the weights to fifty-five, I catch sight of myself in a grimy mirror directly opposite the place I'm sitting, and almost look away in disgust. I see a man with too-red hair and too-big muscles, working out to hide the insecure, lonely adolescent he really is because he doesn't have the balls to show anyone how vulnerable he feels.

Well maybe things can change. Maybe he's found someone who's going to listen to him and make him happy in ways that fighting never can.

I shake my head violently, forcing myself to be rational. I'm thinking too far ahead. We've basically only just met, for fuck's sake.

I make myself exercise furiously, pushing myself too hard, not thinking of how much pain I'll be in tomorrow, or maybe the day after. When I next check the time, it's ten 'o' clock. Damn. It's getting late.

I stand slowly and stretch out all of my limbs. Hearing them click is always surprisingly refreshing.

Exhausted and dripping with sweat, I nab the small bathroom and quickly shower, ignoring the decaying rat lying forlornly next to the sink. The water alternates between cold and freezing, but it's better than nothing.

The second I'm outside to head home I'm approached by two hoodie-clad men. My taekwon do instincts kick in and I automatically change my stance to lower my centre of gravity, making quick attacks easier if necessary, but relax when I recognize the spotty, greasy faces of two of my teenage clients.

"What?" I snap, not in the mood to be plagued by these two. They're particularly annoying, with their braces and immaturity and eerie habit of finding me wherever I am.

"You holdin'?"


	4. Chapter 4

Hiiiiiii  
>Short chapter, I know. I'm sorry! I'll give Xiao an extra extra long one next time to make up for it :)<br>I love it when you review, beautiful readers ^_^

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><p><strong>Xiaoyu<strong>

I poke my noodles on the hob with a wooden spoon, not really hungry, and glance at my phone sitting pointedly on the table between stirs. Once dinner is ready, I serve it onto a plate and eat it at the table, my eyes never straying from the pink phone before me. Frustrated with the silence of the phone, I check to make sure it's not on silent or turned off or something stupid like that.

I rise and wash up, something I rarely do, to distract myself. It takes a disappointingly short time, and before long I'm just sitting staring at my phone again.

All of a sudden I jump up, recognizing how absurd I'm being – he probably won't even save my number into his phone, let alone call me – I force my legs to move to the sofa, and crumble onto the soft material. I switch the telly on, glancing at the phone once more, before losing myself in a couple of repeats of a TV show that was on sometime last year. Once they're all over, I glance at the clock, and my heart sinks. It's almost eleven 'o' clock. He isn't going to call.

Disheartened, I stand to brush my teeth and go to bed.


	5. Chapter 5

Hello again :) thank you for reading! Revieeeeeeeww

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><p><strong>Hwoarang<strong>

"Piss off," I sigh, not wanting to be hounded. I want to go home, crack open a beer, and maybe give her a call. Maybe.

These two don't seem to understand that I have other things to do.

"Please, Hwoarang," the short, fat one whines. I shake my head sharply.

"No."

"Please!"

"Please what?" I almost shout back, barely keeping my cool. "I haven't got anything."

"Can you get some?"

"Not now, idiot."

He doesn't even register the insult. "Please… We'll give you anything, anything at all…"

"I'm not getting you anything!"

The other one, slightly taller and skinnier, breaks his silent spell. He suddenly darts forwards and literally throws himself on the ground at my feet.

"PLEASE!" he screams, practically crying. I recoil from him, wondering if I'll have to break someone's finger before too long to make my point.

"Just fuck off!"

"No, no," he sobs, choking pathetically. "Please… More money? Favours?"

I growl furiously, and start to walk away. Needless to say, both of them are quick to follow.

"Wait!" the first one squeals hysterically. "A duel?"

I actually stop walking, and turn round to stare at him. For the first time ever, I am speechless.

"A duel?" I eventually repeat, wondering if I'd heard him correctly. He nods, his face tear-streaked and ugly.

"If you win, you'll never hear from us again," he whispers gutturally.

I laugh loudly. Thank God for small mercies. "And if I lose?" I enquire, smirking.

"Two kilos of coke?"

I nod. "Deal."

He raises his fists slowly, unsure, and it occurs to me that a fight like this is a shit way to break my duelling fast.

"Wait," I sigh, again wishing I were on my couch, dialling her number. "I only fight proper opponents."

"What do you…" he begins, before his lanky friend calls someone from inside the gym over, his voice cracking halfway through. How young are these guys? Fifteen? Younger? Guilt stirs in my chest momentarily.

I turn to see who he called over, and I'm surprised to see Colossal Bill stomping over. This guy is huge – seriously huge. Pumped on every kind of steroid known to man, he'll spend hours at a time lifting the heaviest dumbbells, just to show off how big and strong he is. He's crude, too. I'm hardly the most eloquent of all people, but seriously – every other word that comes out of his mouth is an expletive. He thinks laughing and winking with his mates over the posters and whistling and catcalling whenever anyone with breasts comes within a mile radius of his person makes him macho, but I know for a fact he hasn't got any off of anyone other than cheap prostitutes for years. I can't talk, I guess. I've been practicing celibacy for six months. Too long.

"What do you fucking want?" he grunts, flexing his muscles.

"I need you to win a fight against him," the scrawny boy gabbles, pointing at me. Bill gives me the once over and snorts, unimpressed.

"Fine – you owe me a fucking joint, bro."

Ah. Brothers. That figures.

He cricks his neck and flexes his joints, stepping forwards to meet me.

Ten minutes later I'm on my way home at last. That was, without a doubt, the worst fight I've ever been involved in. Less than thirty seconds after it started he was hobbling away, holding his crotch, a continuous stream of oaths pouring out of his mouth. He didn't get a single hit in. I would be relishing in my victory, but it was too easy.

I glance at the time on my phone and panic. Eleven 'o' clock. Is that too late to call someone for the first time? Shit, I have no idea.

I stand still in the middle of the pavement holding both my phone and the piece of paper she wrote her number on. Craaaaap. Call or not?

Ah, fuck it.

I quickly dial her number, fumbling in my haste, and press the green button, lifting it to my ear.


	6. Chapter 6

Hello again!  
>Told you I'd give Xiao a biggie :)<br>Warning: LEMONS, LIMES, ORANGES, GRAPEFRUITS, SATSUMAS, TANGERINES, EVERYTHING CITRUSSY IN THIS CHAPTER.  
>Oh it is fun taking the michael ;)<br>Pleeeeeease review. It makes me smile. Like this - :D

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><p><strong>Xiaoyu<strong>

My phone rings, and I just about die of shock.

For a full five seconds I stand there, slack jawed, still in my vest-shorts combo, utterly astounded. He's calling…

My head jerks. What the hell am I doing just standing here, looking at it? I snap out of my stupor and leap for it, accidentally knocking it onto the floor. I emit a frustrated squeal, scrabbling on the wood to get it. I seize it, quickly open it, and push it to my ear.

"Hello?" I answer, trying to hide my elation.

"Hey, there," he says smoothly, oblivious to how huge the smile on my face is right now. "How are you?"

"Oh, I'm fine thanks," I reply breathlessly, unlocking the French windows that lead to the small balcony; it's suddenly very hot in here. I lean against the railings, gazing up at the sky. It's pretty tonight. "And you?"

Pause.

"I'm alright. Just walking home now."

"Oh yeah? Where've you been?" How come you haven't called 'til now, damnit?

"Ah, I've been at the gym. Sorry," he apologizes, as if he knows I've been sitting and waiting for him.

"Hey, it's fine," I laugh.

"Maybe I could make it up to you sometime?" he asks innocently.

My hopes raise higher than the stars I'm currently looking at. "Hmm? How would you do that?" I try to not sound too excited.

"Maybe… coffee?" Is it just me, or does he sound hopeful too?

"Sounds good…"

AHHH! HE JUST ASKED ME OUT! DID HE? DID HE JUST ASK ME OUT? I DON'T KNOW, I THINK HE DID, I – AHHHHHHHHHH HE ASKED ME OUT!

"Sweet!" I can hear the smile in his voice. I can hear his voice, full stop – not just from the phone in my hand. I take it away from my face, frowning, and look down at the pavement below – would you believe it? A familiar stranger with a mop of red hair walking alone on the opposite side of the street. I smile, and snap my phone shut and lean on my arms and watch him stop walking. He suddenly frowns and takes the phone away from his ear with that "did she just hang up on me?" look on his face.

"Hey," I call, giggling. His head snaps up and he meets my eye immediately. A smile spreads across his face, and it makes me want to hug him so badly. Wait, is that weird? Wanting to hug him, having spoken to him exactly twice in my life?

Ah, screw it. I want to do a lot more than hug him.

"Hi," he says, and I hear him clearly; his voice makes me shiver. He notices, and laughs again. I duck my head, embarrassed.

"How about making it up to me now?" I ask. His eyes widen, and I panic, not wanting him to get the wrong idea. "I mean… how about that coffee?"

"You're on," he grins, already walking across to the entrance door and out of my view. I breathe a happy sigh, before remembering that in about a minute he's going to be in here… and I'm currently looking rough.

I hurriedly shove a couple of dirtying mugs I've been too lazy to clean into the sink and inspect myself in the mirror, tweaking my hair [still loose] and checking my breath. I grab an unopened bottle of mouthwash from the cupboard and frantically swill it around in my mouth before spitting it into the sink with an unattractive "hgggeuch-puh" noise, and I'm rinsing my mouth out with water when there's a quiet knock on the door.

I wipe my face before I answer it, not wanting to look too keen. With my hand on the doorknob, I take a deep breath, and force myself to calm down. He's only coming here for coffee and a chat. We might find that we hate each other.

"Hi!" I greet him as I open the door and stand back to let him in. He steps through the doorway as if he's not sure what to do, and quickly smiles at me. I cock my head to one side, wondering why he's unsure, when it hits me. He doesn't do dates, or whatever this is, very often.

Well that makes two of us.

I silently lead him through to my living room and plonk myself onto the couch. He seats himself next to me – and we talk.

For hours.

About everything.

The tournament, the people in it, what we've been up to since then, hopes for the future, regrets from the past.

By two 'o' clock I feel like I know him inside out.

I open my liquor cabinet and we share a bottle of red, our conversation growing louder and more hilarious. He stands to get another bottle, and when he comes back he sits down closer to me than he was before. I don't question him; just pour myself another glass, giggling uncontrollably, punctuated by the odd hiccup.

I say something funny and he throws his head back, roaring with laughter, and it strikes me how much I want to kiss his neck, and have him kiss mine. Feeling especially daring, I lean forwards, well aware how this angle gives him a nice view down my top.

"Hey," I begin, before hiccupping, causing him to laugh further. I start again. "Hey, you know what would be a really – hic – really good idea?" His eyes twinkle.

"Maybe I should get you even more drunk," he jokes. "You really can't hold your drink, Xiao."

"Not my fault," I pout. "Not what I was going to say, anyway."

"Go on, then," he says, winking at me. "Enlighten me."

"I think…" I start, leaning even further forwards. "…you should have me."

His eyebrows disappear into his fringe. "Ling Xiaoyu, you kinky lady!"

"Do you really mind?" I ask, moving my face closer to his.

In response, he closes the distance, pressing his lips to mine.

"Not in the slightest," he whispers, before kissing me again, gently pushing me down onto my sofa and cupping my cheek as he kisses me.

My arms reach up and slide around his neck, pulling him closer to me, and he intensifies the kiss, making me feel wanted, missed. He moves his body to lie in between my legs, inadvertently rubbing himself against the most sensitive part of my body and I gasp; he smiles and nuzzles my neck, gently nibbling and sucking the skin while I breathe heavily underneath him. He moves his lips to my ear and whispers:

"Shall we move this to the bedroom?"

He lifts me up easily and stands me on my feet, and I lead him to my bedroom. It's nothing special – a wardrobe and a double bed and little else – but it serves the purpose. He doesn't seem to mind. He wastes no time in falling backwards onto the bed, pulling me on top of him to resume our make-out session.

Before long, his hand begins to wander; sliding down my cheek, my neck, my shoulder, coming to a halt just above my breast. I arch my back, trying to make him touch me more, but he pulls away. I open my eyes and look at him reproachfully, and he winks yet again.

"Not yet."

His hand averts my breasts, to my annoyance, but slides down my side to the bottom of my vest top, flipping it out of the way and pressing his warm hand against my stomach. The feel of his skin on mine makes me hungry for more; I push him off me and leap onto him, kissing him ferociously as I pull ineffectively at his top. He breaks from me to lift it over his head, and I'm left briefly stunned at how he manages to be hot and cute at the same time – a body the word "perfect" doesn't even begin to cover; floppy red hair, falling over his face as he takes off his shirt; eyes the colour of amber staring disapprovingly at the top still covering my upper half.

Smirking, I decide to torture him; I slowly begin to remove my flimsy vest top. Too slow for his liking. After about four seconds of watching me, he assists me in taking it off and throws it across the room, emphasising his dislike for anything covering me, making me smile more. He leans back against the pillows, not bothering to conceal his ogling.

I go to take off my little white bra, but his hands stop me; I straddle him, kissing him, while his hands make their way to my back, slithering up my thighs, my butt, slowly moving up my spine, causing me to shiver yet again. He laughs softly as he unclips the obstruction, and slides it off my arms as he kisses his way from my lips to my cheek, from my cheek to my neck, from my neck to my chest. A quiet whimper escapes me as his lips connect with my nipple and his hand covers my other breast, tweaking me gently. His tongue nudges it, making me cry out; his spare arm tightens around my waist as he settles in to a steady rhythm, sucking one side and rubbing and pinching the other. I work hard to not make too much noise, but it's difficult; this is the first piece of action I've had in a long time.

He doesn't do that for very long. He soon lifts me by my waist, detaching his lips from my chest, and rearranges me to lie on my back, frustrated and undeniably horny. He presses his mouth to mine briefly, before moving down me, leaving a trail of kisses straight down my chest, stopping at my shorts.

My breath catches and my eyes widen as I realize his intentions, and respond by lifting my hips towards him, helping him slide my shorts off my legs. He kisses me through my knickers and I begin to physically shake with anticipation. Whatever he's told me about not being the most experienced, sexually, is complete rubbish – he knows exactly how to turn a girl on and make her want him more than she's wanted anyone else, and how to taunt her, keep her hanging there wanting more.

One hand moves smoothly up between my legs and hooks around my knickers, tugging them down. Why don't I feel embarrassed, naked in front of this man who, twenty-four hours ago, was still a stranger? Maybe the wine helps.

He skims over me with his hand and I ache from the inside out for him. I feel two fingers nudging at my entrance and I grab hold of the pillow my head is resting on with both hands, squeezing it tightly. He slowly pushes them into me and I moan, wanting him faster, deeper, but still he continues at an agonizingly slow rate, pushing and gently curling inside me to make me want to scream.

I put my wrist into my mouth and bite down to muffle the noises I'm emitting. I can't see him, but I sense his head move closer to me, and when he licks me my entire body spasms and I clamp down on my wrist painfully. He's relentless now; sucking on my clitoris with enough intensity to make me feel wanted, pushing his fingers in and out of me with more force and speed, drawing me closer and closer to climax until –

"Hey!" I protest as he suddenly pulls away entirely when I'm on the brink, leaving me bucking and writhing on the bed as he kneels up and observes me thoughtfully. I scream, frustrated, and go to finish it myself with _my_ fingers when he stops me with a sudden kiss. He silences me, and kisses me until I'm no longer quivering with lust, but lying dreamy and content in his lips. I don't notice him wriggling out of his trousers until he readjusts himself to be between my legs in a suggestive position, yet again.

He gazes straight into my eyes.

"Do you want to do this, Xiao?"

I give him a look that clearly says, "What do you think?"

"Is that just the alcohol talking?"

"'Rang," I whisper throatily. "I'm not that drunk. Just… please…"

He nods, and kisses my lips as he pushes into me. I gasp and wince at the same time, as I'm entered for the first time in months; despite my immense arousal, I'm incredibly tight.

He goes slowly at first, sliding all the way inside me, taking his time, making sure I'm not hurting. He kisses me silently, holding me, grinding his hips smoothly against mine, making me feel ecstasy unlike any I've felt before.

All of a sudden he increases the tempo, thrusting into me faster and faster. He mutters, "oh _fuck _yeah", over and over as he slides in and out of me quickly, gaining in volume and incoherence with every thrust.

I slither my arms around his neck, pulling his lips to my neck and he obliges, sucking and licking my turn-on spot while one hand slides up my stomach to cup my breast, jerking deep inside me all the while. I moan loudly, and I feel him smile against my neck.

"Hw- H- H-" I try desperately to say his name, but the jolting motion from his hips forcing me down onto my bed prevents full words from leaving me.

He laughs softly and pushes himself firmly into me, before holding me by my waist and rolling us both over to the other side of the bed, reversing our positions.

I straighten up precariously, placing both of my hands on his chest to steady myself. He smiles at me with a combination of encouragement and uncontrollable desire, placing his hands on my knees, sliding them up the inside of my legs to play gently with my clit, surprising me into flexing my leg muscles briefly, causing me to… I don't know how you'd describe it… "jump" on him. And OMG it feels good! Practically being impaled by his [hugemungous] package when I've been waiting for it for this long is so, so satisfying… I only hope it's the same for him.

He places his hands on my waist to help lift me from his body and slam me back down. My back arches in elation and pain and I cry out something that sounds a little bit like his name but I'm too delirious with pleasure to pay attention to anything coming out of my mouth; I concentrate on taking over, lifting and dropping my hips onto his over and over, moaning and gasping while he pants beneath me, his hair getting more mussed up with every thrust, making me want to kiss him so badly for being so adorable until I can't resist anymore.

He watches me through wide eyes with a "what the hell?" expression as I lift myself off him and flop onto the bed beside him, only to reach up to hold his face and kiss him fiercely, pulling him back on top of me. He responds eagerly, slipping himself between my legs and sliding his tongue to press against mine; I taste myself faintly on his lips, and, amazingly, it turns me on even more. He moves his dick to push against my entrance and I tense, waiting once more for that release I experience when he's deep inside me, making me believe someone like him wants to be with someone like me – but he's teasing me. Nudging me, letting me feel its presence and its girth but, frustratingly enough, nothing else. He watches my reaction with amused [and horny] eyes, a smile flickering around his delicious mouth. I unwittingly emit a "nyuh!" noise, and lift my hips to his, trying to make him slide into me, making him laugh.

Eventually he relents, and pushes into me with a force I didn't know he was capable of. He's fierce, and he's rough, and I love it.

We're a mess of tangled limbs coated with a thin layer of sweat, rubbing against each other erotically, our bodies moving together in perfect time until I'm left convinced that nothing has ever felt this right; the buff, moody, mysterious Korean and the tiny little Chinese chattermouth? I suppose opposites do attract.

He sucks on my neck, pushing into me hard, and I feel myself coming closer to orgasm until –

"You know what, Xiao?" he murmurs, taking a break from hickeyifying my neck. "You are so fucking hot."

His voice, his deep, husky, velvety voice sends me over the edge; I feel my walls tighten around him and begin to shake uncontrollably as I climax. It's unstoppable, it's incredible, it's perfect – because it's him.

He keeps driving into me to help me as I come noisily but suddenly stops, eyes closed, as he orgasms deep inside me.

He flops onto me, and his warmth and weight is comforting; it makes the whole night more _real_ somehow, confirmation that it happened and is still happening; the reassurance that I haven't dreamed it all makes me smile until I'm sure I'm never going to stop.

Evidently it's contagious; he notes my huge grin, and allows a smile to spread across his face as well.

"What is it?" he asks, lying next to me and taking me into his arms. I cuddle up to him, loving the feel of his chest against my back.

"Nothing," I yawn. "Just… so happy."

He nuzzles his face into my shoulder, kissing the skin lightly. "For what it's worth," he says quietly. "I'm happy too. I'm so glad I had the opportunity to meet you properly, Xiao."

His words lift me up from the inside, making me want to laugh and dance and sing and jump up and down, hugging him to my chest. I settle for a small giggle.

"Mmm… Same." I sigh, and settle into his chest, feeling myself succumbing to sleep. He reaches across me and pulls a slightly rumpled blanket over the two of us, tightening his hold around my stomach as he whispers into my ear:

"Goodnight, beautiful."


	7. Chapter 7

Hey, again :)  
>Dang, I've been forgetting the disclaimer for the last, like, four chapters.<br>I don't own Tekken or any of its characters, and I never have done. Until I marry the creator... THEN I shall own them :D mwahaha.  
>FLUFF ATTACK!<p>

* * *

><p><strong>Hwoarang<strong>

I wake up smiling, with my arms encircling a beautiful and kinky little lady, and feel contentment like nothing I've ever felt before.

I open my eyes, and my smile widens; she's really here with me, I'm really here; I haven't dreamed any of this. That small fact makes me unbelievably happy.

It's curious how someone so very different to me could have this effect on me. So, yes, all we've had so far is a four hour conversation in which we became steadily more intoxicated and the best damn fuck of my life, but somehow… it's like she completes me.

She is light and I am dark. She is warm where I was cold. She is everything I could possibly want. Maybe everything I'll ever need.

Opposites attract. The thought makes me smile.

She stirs in my arms, and I lean over and kiss her gently on the cheek. I watch, fascinated, as her eyes flutter open and lock with mine.

"Good morning," I whisper hoarsely, my voice rusty. This she picks up on, and smiles before kissing me lightly.

"Hey, you," she smiles in return. She looks down at our positioning, and blushes. Actually blushes. After everything we did last night, she's embarrassed that I should see her naked with the sheets tangled somewhere around our waists.

"I meant what I said last night," I murmur into her ear, hugging her tightly to me. "You're beautiful, Xiao."

She dips her head, blushing further, before turning around to face me.

She looks as if she wants to say something, but doesn't know how to form the words in her mouth.

Ha, ha… She's not talking. I must be really special. The thought warms me like a hot shower on a cold December night.

I spare her the awkwardness of trying to find words to say, and press my lips to hers. I break the kiss, my lips lingering next to hers.

A sudden thought makes me smile.

"So, Xiao… Still up for a coffee later?"

* * *

><p>WOOOO! FINISHED!<br>Well, actually, that's what I wanted to ask your opinion on.  
>I have an idea for a full story to follow this, but I also think that this is quite a nice ending to a short romantic story. What do you think? Should I leave it, or continue with the story? Bearing in mind that I have exams soon and probably won't be able to update very often for a while, and I have a tendency to just give up on big projects after I've run out of steam. But I think, if there was interest, it would act as a kick up the butt for me to complete it. Your opinion really matters to me :)<br>Thank you for reading! Tell me what you think! ^_^  
>Lots of love, Mrs A. Fowl x<p> 


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